


Prompt #019 Love

by kurgaya



Series: Divine Footsteps [33]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Translation Available, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he’d had a tail, it would be wagging at a hundred miles an hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt #019 Love

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Зарисовка #019 Любовь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299517) by [a_m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_m/pseuds/a_m)



**With Love**

“Yo Tōshirō! You’re free now aren’t you?” is Ichigo’s way of blurting a greeting when he bounces into the Tenth Division office like a puppy. Only the silence that has settled down to sleep answers his delighted cry, and the substitute is so startled by the emptiness that he stumbles against the low coffee table and crashes into the sofa hidden unawares in the darkness. There is nobody in the office to laugh at his lumbering misfortune or sympathise with the hissing bruise on his elbow. He is momentarily grateful for this as he picks up his shamefaced expression and lanky figure. Yet the relief burns into a flicker of confusion as Ichigo peers through the uninhabited gloom, absorbing the tidy desk and the lack of plates, bowls, or teacups that are usually scattered about the office.

“Eh – Tōshirō?” he calls, as if the captain that dwells in these enclosed four walls is a five year old playing a relentless game of hide-and-seek-in-the-dark. Ichigo scrambles around the coffee table and checks under the main desk for good measure, though even the sole stream of light from the doorway is enough to reveal that he truly is alone.

Weird. In the many years that he has known the renowned Tōshirō Hitsugaya, dragging the captain away from his office and the subsequent mount of paperwork is a mission that Ichigo has rarely been able to complete. That the little icy firecracker (or _Tōshirō_ , as Ichigo only dares to say to his face) is not in the heart of the Tenth Division thus poses the question as to _where_ he actually is. Knowing there was only one answer to that, the substitute treks back out of the room (adjusting the mess in his wake as he did) and clicks the door shut behind him. The corridor is abnormally desolate (and it is only now that he notices) and he takes a deep breath, willing his fiery reiryoku to spill out in search of the dragon-coiled storm that complements it.

It guides him to a far corner of the division, away from the bustle and laughter of a thousand youthful souls. At the end of a hallway is a single door, tucked so tightly near the corner that it almost ceases to exist. It is as if its presence was simply an afterthought in the construction of the building, and Ichigo blinks at the wooden grains trailing down the door, wondering if its inconspicuous nature is meant to hide something. Nevertheless, his reiatsu pools back inside of him with satisfaction, having apparently fulfilled its duty and led him to the right place. The substitute shrugs and decides _what the hell_ – there is a squeak of resistance from the door but little more, so it doesn’t deter him from stepping inside and groping around for a light switch.

He doesn’t find the light, but there is something else in the room.

“Oh _shit_ ,” he says. That his breath puffs out like smoke from a dragon when he speaks is a tell-tale sign of whose personal quarters he’s just barged into, but if that wasn’t enough of an indication, the horse-sized, scarlet eyed, lizard of ice in the middle of the room is a pretty large giveaway.

It smirks at him. Ichigo squeals and most certainly does _not_ freeze like a startled deer at the sight of the zanpakuto. Hyorinmaru’s frozen grin widens dangerously, but there seems to be a hint of amusement in the bloodied shine to his eyes.

(Or Ichigo could just be hoping for one).

“Um,” says the shinigami, flattening himself against the door he had forced open. The dragon rises up off the floor without a sound and Ichigo’s words tumble out in a frantic rush; “I just followed Tōshirō’s reiryoku and I didn’t even think about where I was going! I didn’t realise it was so late – is he sleeping? I didn’t mean to wake him – you – him – oh my god please don’t eat me –”

Hyorinmaru huffs, his artic teeth sharpening between his colossal jaws. Ichigo flounders for something more coherent to save himself with, pondering manically if his first encounter with Tōshirō’s zanpakuto is going to result in his consumption and ultimate demise. The dragon regards him carefully, analysing every emotion that passes across the substitute’s flushed demeanour. Ichigo swallows and straightens, but he doesn’t reach for the safety of his zanpakuto in the encircled sanctuary of Tōshirō’s quarters. The hunter’s assessment continues for a beat – a minute more – before Hyorinmaru moves away, as if having found something in Ichigo’s thundering heartbeat that appeases him. The substitute is static as Hyorinmaru’s serpentine body starts to fade, and he doesn’t dare breathe until the silver of moonlight that was basking the icy scales is all that remains of the fortified dragon.

Not believing his luck, he treads forward cautiously, gauging the probability of his death. A yukata-clad, slumber-shadowed captain coughs pointedly from the other end of the room; Ichigo trips over his own feet with a yelp and smashes into the floorboards. His groan of pain is echoed by the sigh of indignation from the resident captain.

Ichigo can only bring himself to laugh as he rolls over to face his partner’s wrath. “Hi,” he says stupidly. He is twenty years old and allowed a moment of foolishness here and there.

“Good evening,” Tōshirō replies elegantly. Most of his snow-kissed skin is hidden beneath the large folds of his yukata, but his feet are bare and small, and the blizzard atop his tired eyes is wilder than normal, a tangle untamed and dragged from the motionless of sleep. “I will hazard a guess and suggest that you are not aware that it is scarcely four o'clock in the morning?”

“Err,” Ichigo mutters. It is all he needs to say to entice a characteristic eye roll from the other. “Time-zones?” he adds as an explanation, laughing sheepishly at Tōshirō’s unimpressed stare. “I forgot.”

“Clearly. Was there something you needed or may I return to bed?”

There is no anger behind the flattening of the captain’s lips, but Ichigo still tries to melt into the floor to escape the blundering error he has made. Feeling a coil of shame tighten in his chest, the substitute heaves himself up and rubs the back of his neck. Dark teal eyes follow his nervous flicker towards the exit, but Ichigo does his best to ignore them.

“Nah it’s alright,” he lies with an effortless smile. “I was just – you know – coming to say ‘hi’. Go back to sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow or something.” The laugh he adds on the end is so blatantly forced that he wouldn’t be surprised if insult is lifting Tōshirō’s eyebrows.

Nothing is said for a moment. Ichigo rocks his weight from foot to foot, trying not to let it show how embarrassed he is at having woken his workaholic boyfriend from the pitiful hours of sleep he only seems to get. The substitute has consistently urged Tōshirō to take a break and stop worrying about every little thing, and here he is, at the dead of night, a blushing, mortified hypocrite.

His humiliation only increases when Tōshirō’s brows twitch into a frown and he asks if there’s something _wrong_ – calls Ichigo by his _first name_ – and glares in his silent ‘I’m concerned but I don’t know what to do’ way that looks like a normal scowl to anybody else, but Ichigo knows better and he can’t help feel delighted even as he wills Hyorinmaru to return and finish off his meal.

“Really,” he insists, wanting to ease his partner’s fears. “It’s nothing. I just wanted to show you something, that’s all, but I guess it can wait – I mean, it’s not that interesting anyway…”

He trails off, uncertain. They haven’t been dating long and they’re stuck at that stage in their relationship where they both would _really rather quite like to spend a lot more time with each other_ but don’t know the best way to go about asking. Ichigo – for one – struggles to gauge how Tōshirō will respond to being _asked_ to change his routine for a blubbering, love-struck man still at university, and so he finds ways to talk himself out of bothering the captain. Ichigo is known for being reckless and hasty, but he is nothing if not empathetic and he _cares_ about the needs and desires of others. Especially Tōshirō’s.

The captain in question turns in the doorway, and for a horrible moment Ichigo thinks he’s going to just _leave him_ and go back to sleep. Instead, Tōshirō motions for the substitute to wait, flicks on the light switch (finally illuminating the room in a golden flash), and announces he’s going to get changed.

“But –” Ichigo clamps his mouth shut before he can finish the sentence. _You haven’t asked me where we’re going_.

Tōshirō rolls his eyes anyway, as if the words had been spoken between them, and slips away into his quarters.

Ichigo grins himself silly. If he’d had a tail, it would be wagging at a hundred miles an hour.

 

 

“Thanks – er – merci, Julien-san.” Ichigo cringes at his hurried French, but the middle aged man with the flamboyant smile that greets the two shinigami as they step out of the senkaimon simply waves it off.

“Il n'y a pas de quoi – you are very welcome, Ichigo, darling,” the man replies, his attempt at Japanese far superior to Ichigo’s mess of French. “Come, come – ah! You must be Tōshirō! Bonsoir monsieur - you are as enchanting as I heard.”

Though Ichigo hadn’t warned where the senkaimon was going to be depositing them, the captain hardly misses a beat before inclining his head in greeting to the gleeful stranger. “Bonsoir monsieur. Vous êtes très gentil.”

Julien laughs boldly, though the crowd of people wandering around are unable to hear the sound of his delight or see the crinkle of his honey-tinted skin as he kisses Tōshirō on the cheek. The captain blushes faintly at the affection, but not a single human is privy to that sight either. Ichigo mirrors the French divisional general’s amusement, unable to feel jealous in the face of such a welcoming, easy-going man.

“I hope you’re not going to get into trouble for this,” Ichigo says as he flops into the empty seat at the little café table.

“Nonsense,” Julien assures, waving Tōshirō into the seat he has vacated. The captain slides into the chair, tucking his kimono underneath him. Though his movements are effortless at masking that he has no idea what he’s doing in the middle of Paris, Ichigo still offers him an encouraging smile.

“It’s the least we can do for you – you’re very charming,” Julien continues, winking at the substitute shinigami. When Ichigo lights up in a blush, the French general turns to Tōshirō and laughs. “Your lover is a generous man – I’m sure you will enjoy your stay here, no? I apologise that I have to depart but – ah – please do have a pleasant evening monsieur.”

He kisses Tōshirō again with a polite farewell and then waggles his eyebrows at Ichigo.

“Au revoir,” says the substitute. “Shoo,” he adds, reaching to drag the friendly man away from his boyfriend. Julien laughs and dances around him, successfully smooching Ichigo’s burning cheek before fluttering away into the crowd, the bell on the end of his blade singing his departure.

“A pleasant man,” Tōshirō comments.

“I think they sent me the most stereotypically French guy they had,” Ichigo explains with a mortified laugh. “But yeah, he’s alright once you get past all the kissing. Better than the chick I bumped into though – she couldn’t understand a word of Japanese. I was so worried I had broken a treaty or some stupid governing rule or whatnot when she started waving her arms and yelling at me at four hundred miles an hour.”

An eyebrow rises across the table. The nearby glow of the streetlamp illuminates Tōshirō’s inquisitive expression.

“Nobody told me other countries have different Soul Societies!” Ichigo blurts, eager to justify his actions. “I just saw a Hollow and knew I couldn’t let it wander around, so I attacked it! Then this girl and Julien come along sprouting all this French mumble-jumble and I thought I was in some really deep shit – it’s not funny!”

Even as he says this, Ichigo grins at the sight of his partner’s amusement. Tōshirō ducks his head to hide the evidence of his smirk. “My apologies,” he mutters, fighting to keep his voice level. “I suggest that you touch up on your international knowledge when we return to Japan, perhaps? Fortunately, our French counterparts are very welcoming, though it has been some years since we’ve inadvertently trespassed in this area of the world. I imagine your presence has caused quite a storm – as it always does.”

“Oh hardy-ha,” says Ichigo. “I don’t mean for these things to happen, you know.”

“No, I gather not,” the captain concedes. “Nevertheless, why are we here? I thought you were on holiday with your flatmates, unless you frequent in abandoning them in the centre of foreign cities?”

Ichigo’s excuse is simple. “I need a reason to take you to Paris?”

The rising of the second silver eyebrow says _yes_ , _yes you do_.

He doesn’t have one, and his extravagant smile is frank in enlightening the captain of this.

Tōshirō regards him silently for a moment. It’s a fond movement. Then he sighs and folds his across his chest in the way that suggests he’s waiting for something interesting to happen.

Ichigo plans to show him _interesting_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it :)


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